


Paint Me How You See Me

by fors_manus



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alive Carl Manfred, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), also no north bashing she may not be my fave and we have issues but in this fic we STAN, because my heart can't take any other route than this, simon doesn't think he's worthy of markus' love but he's WRONG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-09 16:25:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16453316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fors_manus/pseuds/fors_manus
Summary: Simon has a dumb crush but doesn't think he's worth it, cue Markus Manfred changing his dang mind





	Paint Me How You See Me

**Author's Note:**

> (this has also been my first near 5000 word fic in years I don't know how this happened but it did and i'm so happy)

Carl’s mansion was large.

Understandably so. In this time and age, naturally talented artists were hard to come by. But when they do, well earned money was how the economy worked.

Comparing it to the comfort of Simon’s old home and the large size of the Jericho ship, the mansion seemed to combine the two into a perfect home. The five of them have lived together for the past few months now and still, North and Josh will casually joke of the possibility of rooms still hidden about the place without their knowledge.

All in good nature naturally.

No one could get mad at Carl even in jest.

And so that’s where Simon found himself now. A room to call his own, a home to call his own and even better, a family to call his own.

And so, he awakens from stasis mode, the suns rays peaking through the blinds in strokes across his bed lighting up his trinket filled room with a soft glow. All PL600’s are given a strict body clock to ensure awakening to suit the timetable of their owners to help manage their day, and though that clock was disabled soon after Simon’s deviancy, nothing stopped him from enjoying the first peaceful quiet of the morning.

But nothing also stopped him from ducking his head further into his pillow in delight, bunch up his covers to radiate warmth he didn’t require but embraced none the less and rest for a few more minutes either.

Allowing his program to skim through the latest news, weather and system biocomponents, Simon let out a breath he didn’t require before gently slipping out of his bed.

Time to start the day.

 

* * *

 

Markus painted.

This was admittedly a surprise to Simon when he first brought lunch out for Carl into his studio, only to see the old man watching Markus in pure fascination as he painted on a horizontal canvas.

Noticing Carl’s indication to remain quiet as to not interrupt, Simon placed down the tray gently intending to leave as to not intrude on their time together before Carl caught his eye and beckoned him over. Confused, Simon slowly approached to stand beside him only to watch as Markus, eyes closed with creases of concentration and a swift but steady hand, painted a recreation of the Jericho ship in its youthful time.

Simon watched enthralled as Markus painted shipping container upon colourful shipping container across the freighter, ready to be shipped out by the crew standing upon the docks as the rising sun painted the sky in soft hues of beige, orange, yellows and reds, purples and blues adding the touch of clouds against the dark shadows of the tall buildings of Detroit.

2 minutes Simon must have stood there, staring as the canvas came to light with every added shading or touch of tone to pronounce a curve or an edge of the ship more. Now softer, the words ‘JERICHO’ were finally added to the side of the ship, tugging a string of bittersweet nostalgia in Simon’s chest before Markus’ eyes finally opened.

At first, all those heterochronic eyes did was gaze upon the canvas as he registered what he just created before finally glancing over to Carl and blinking in surprise as Simon’s sudden presence. Giving him a quick smile, Simon stepped next to him slowly, eyes tracing the drying paint as his arms crossed across his chest in thought.

“She’s beautiful,” was the only thing that came to Simon’s mind. Jericho had been his home for so many years, helping to treat those who were injured or afraid or lost, welcoming in both Josh and then North when they both respectively came to the ship for refuge. Watching those who were just too damaged, or low on blue blood or spontaneously shut down fall around him as the days to weeks to months persisted.

Katie, Toya, Victor, Beth, Walter, Olive, Kyron, Lukas, Giselle…

So many names.

Simon remembers them all. Those who asked to hold his hand before they shut down, or asked for a shoulder to lean on, a story to pass the time or just silence and the hum of machinery and creaking of old metal to do the talking between them.

“Am I right in assuming this was the ship you two were on as the whole revolution began?” Carl wheeled closer, peering at the painting, “she was certainly a beauty.”

“She wasn’t much,” Simon swallowed, his eyelashes felt wet and there was a heaviness in his throat that he could only describe as the human term of: ‘frog in my throat’ as he continued, “but she was home.”

Markus still hadn’t said anything as Carl hummed in understanding.

“Well, I hope this big old place matches up to your standards then Simon. If not that then hopefully the company makes up for it in its place,” Carl grinned as Simon laughed.

“More than you think, Mr Manfred.”

“Oh Simon, please! Carl is fine. Now then, what delicious meal did you end up bringing in for me?”

 

* * *

 

The painting of Jericho now hung itself above the dresser in Simon’s room.

“A birthday gift,” Markus had explained, as he handed the canvas over one evening wrapped in paper designed with blue roses and golden stripes.

“I don’t… have a birthday…” Simon had awkwardly responded after thanking Markus in surprise.

“You went Deviant…” Markus started, crossing his arms and chewing on his bottom lip in thought before looking up again, “Three years ago today, you went Deviant. I had asked Josh- just in casual conversation! But he mentioned it and you seemed to like the painting so I thought…” and then he trailed off.

By then, Simon had already carefully, oh so carefully, removed the sharply wrapped canvas only to reveal it to be the Jericho painting Markus had created a few weeks back. Exclaiming the others name in a breathless whisper, Simon traced his fingers across the bow of the ship and then glanced up at Markus in awe.

“Thank you,” he whispered sincerely, registering the gentle blue blush on Markus’ freckled cheeks and the sheepish smile that tugged on his lips. That was new…

Laying the canvas down on the table next to them in the main hall, Simon shuffled forward and gently wrapped his arms around Markus’ waist in a hug which the other slowly reciprocated. Human actions were so odd; a handshake, a dance, a hug or a kiss.

So many actions representing such vast emotions.

But Simon had understood them, watched before his Deviancy as his owners would exchange such actions between themselves and others with smiles upon their faces and love in their hearts. And through the many androids that arrived at Jericho, Simon would share these with others to give them comfort.

So many would freeze up, others hesitantly returning the action, some would ask what action he just suddenly made and very rarely, some would indulge in the movement with smiles on their faces and tears in their eyes at finally embracing such an act.

But Simon never kissed, knew it was too intimate a show of love. Between lovers and family and close friends.

A kiss on the hand.

A kiss on the cheek.

A kiss on the lips.

Simon knew it was intimate.

 

Simon kissed Markus on the cheek before bolting to his room, canvas pressed tightly against his chest and blue flooding his face.

 

* * *

 

Simon didn’t see Markus the next day until the late evening.

“Political bullshit,” North had explained whilst lounging on the couch in her pyjamas watching an animated show including a screaming boy and an elongated yellow dog, hair damp from a shower she didn’t require but explained was a relaxing process.

Simon had yet to try it. Maybe he should.

He didn’t.

Instead, he busied himself with any chore he could find. Helping Carl around the house, cooking meals, cleaning the mansion including the studio, reading with Josh, watering the plants.

So much to do, and Simon knew if he stopped for a second all he would think about was the kiss.

The _stupid_ kiss.

Simon faltered and slapped a hand against his face whilst the other stopped the watering can from leaning forward to continue its spray against the flowers.

What the _hell_ had he been thinking.

‘ _It could have been a reaction created in the moment_ ,’ a stray thought crossed his mind, ‘A _simple experiment of sharing love between two members of family,_ ’ Another excuse suggested.

“You’re being dumb,” Simon murmured back, placing the watering can on the grass and sitting on a nearby bench.

Simon knew so much about love.

Had watched it happen and be exchanged in front of his eyes time and time again as he was bought and resold from family to family. Watched it as Lucy would care and speak wisdom to those who needed it in Jericho. Watched it as a short haired AX400 had hugged a YK800 before the FBI had attacked their refuge. Watched it as Markus and North had found peace with one another before mutually calling it off just months later.

But he had yet to experience it.

“You’re being dumb,” Simon repeated.

He knew love in literature; how the brave knight would save a damsel in distress causing them to fall in love practically immediately. Watched it on screens as the women would play hard to get only to propose their love when the other was about to commit a suicidal act to save the day. Had read about it when one of the two would sacrifice themselves to ensure the other’s survival even at the cost of their own life.

Simon knew love, he was just too scared to own up to his.

 

* * *

 

It had come to the end of the day.

More chores were completed than utterly necessary, as both Carl and even Josh insisted as Simon offered his help for making dinner. In response, they had come to the compromise of Simon being the one to wash up the dishes once they were done, which was reluctantly accepted.

Androids still couldn’t eat, not yet even a released upgrade from Cyberlife for those who wished to indulge in the small but unnecessary delights of human creation. But the action of making more for company is always appreciated, and in the end, half would be saved for a later meal whilst the rest given to homeless sanctuary’s by Carl’s insistence.

By the time the clock had struck 10pm, Simon had just finished up drying and replacing the plates and cutlery into their designated draws and cupboards, food stored away in plastic containers and security systems checked and rechecked around the house.

Quietly moving to the hall as not to awaken to now sleeping residents above him, Simon paused in front of the doors leading to the studio.

The studio whose lights were now on when Simon knew that had been turned off before dinnertime.

Many options came to Simon’s mind; to call the police in case it was a burglar, to send a warning signal to North and Josh so all three of them could investigate, to notify Markus and ask where he was because damnit he should be home by now, and to investigate it for himself.

Simon wasn’t a fighter, never was. He was always the peacemaker.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t keep up with a fight when it was given to him.

Taking a deep unnecessary breath, Simon gently pried the doors open only to reveal a wide blank canvas and Markus sitting in front of it, his paintbrush tapping against his leg in a slow beat.

Deciding to open the doors more loudly to announce his presence, Markus glanced over at him before his face softened and a smile curled his lips.

“Simon, I wasn’t expecting anyone else to still be awake,” he gently greeted, manoeuvring his body to face the entryway as he twirled the paintbrush. “I was just finishing up,” Simon responded as he approached, “Carl ate more than his fill today, so I suggest something light in the morning to make it easier for him.”

Markus hummed in thanks, following Simon’s eyes to the stark white canvas, “I seem to be experiencing what Carl likes to call an ‘art block’,” he explained.

“Do you know what could have caused it?”

“Not sure, maybe all the boring politic talk is finally getting to me,” Markus joked making Simon crack a smile, “Have you ever painted, Simon?”

“Me?” Simon blinked, “I would sometimes be told to draw creatures or characters from literature for the young ones I would previously care for but nothing…” Simon vaguely waved his arm around the studio, paintings of every size and colour surrounding them.

“Nothing from the heart,” Markus finished, before abruptly standing up to face Simon and pressing the paintbrush into Simon’s palm, an easy but keen smile gracing his features.

“Paint something for me.”

“Wh- now?” Simon blinked profusely, little to no resistance in his stiff movement as Markus guided him to stand in front of the canvas.

“Yes, now. Paint something for me,” Markus coaxed, hands resting easily on Simon’s shoulders and standing way too close for Simon’s thirium pump regulator to follow.

“I don’t… what do I paint?” Simon said at loss for words, eyes fluttering around the room in panic for a touch of inspiration. That’s what artists do, right? Look around for inspiration and then paint whatever comes to mind?

Maybe he should have started the Art section of the library today instead.

Markus chuckled lowly, breaking Simon’s thoughts and stepping to his left to catch his gaze. “You’re thinking too hard,” he smiled, and Simon couldn’t find it within himself to even respond. Too caught up in that smile, the gentle hand resting on his back.

“When Carl first told me to paint, he told me the purpose of it was not to copy what was around us, but to improve it to what it could be,” Markus began, grabbing a nearby paint covered palette and placing it in Simon’s left hand.

“Then, he told me to close my eyes, to imagine something that doesn’t exist, and how it makes me feel, and then he told me to paint.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Simon frowned, looking down at the used palette and back up at the intimidating canvas. “I don’t know if I can…” he whispered, slumping his shoulders in defeat just as Markus’ tanned hands slipped down his arms, his skin removing itself slowly to reveal porcelain white.

“Then we’ll do it together,” he offered, his right hand resting against Simon’s elbow and the other covering Simon’s left that was still holding the palette.

Simon shuddered, staring down at their conjoined hands in disbelief at the offering the man behind him was making. Knowing that whatever decision he makes now would affect the two of them forever.

“Okay,” he meekly responded, slowly removing his own skin and shuddering at how intimate of an act they were about to commit.

“Now close your eyes,” Markus whispered in his ear, back pressed firmly against his own, “and paint.”

As Simon’s eyes fluttered shut, a wave of emotions overtook his sensors, codings and numbers flashing across his systems identifying and sorting through emotions, memories and thoughts that Markus openly began sharing with him.

Soon enough the numbers came together and identified themselves through past events of Markus’ life.

The first time he was activated in the large hallway of Carl’s mansion, Carl himself being the first being he ever saw and the friendliness that shone in the old man’s eyes as he introduced himself before welcoming him home.

Helping Carl explore the gardens outside one lunchtime and listen to him ramble on about the number of flowers he’s owned and their symbolism before suddenly asking what Markus’ favourite blossom was, causing Markus to short circuit in baffled confusion at being asked such a personal question which he shouldn’t be able to even answer.

Meeting Leo for the first time high on Red Ice and receiving his first amount of harsh backlash and foul-mouthed accusations as Carl defended _him_ over his own son whilst Markus’ inner turmoil was only recognized months later as over-protective.

The comfort of Carl’s words. The interruption. The argument. The gunshot. The fight to live. The fascination of finding Jericho. The will to survive and march only through peace and communication.

The pain. The fear. The determination. The relief. The comfort. The friends. The family.

The blue eyes. The nimble fingers. The calming voice. The continued support. The ever watching. The loving. The selfless.

“Now, concentrate on how that makes you feel…” the Carl of Markus’ memories spoke to him, “and let your hand drift across the canvas.”

And Simon did just that.

Embracing nothing but what he was feeling, Simon allowed himself to let go.

Three years of being on the run meant little time for self-reflection. So much time spent on helping others and spreading the word of Jericho whilst working and rationing through what little supplies they had. But now Simon refused to think of any of that.

All he did was paint.

And then he stopped, and time caught up with him again as he slowly opened his eyes.

Simon stared at a PL600.

His eyes were open but soft, head tilted up towards the dark blue night sky as if he were admiring the stars painted above him. His hands were cupped to his chest, a large blue dahlia held delicately in his palms as a few petals fell from his fingertips to the bottom of the canvas. A thin ring of silver paint circled the android’s head as an aureola, small dots circling the inside whilst teardrop shapes framed the outer of the line.

But there was something wrong with the PL600; his posture not stiff, his smile too gentle, his eyes too detailed a shade to assume it being a generic homecare android.

No, Simon wasn’t looking at a PL600; he was looking at _himself_.

A nervous coil tugged in Simon’s stomach, confused as to why he had painted such an egotistical emotional piece of _himself_ with _Markus_ of all people in the same room as him-

Markus.

“I-I’m sorry I don’t know what came-“ Simon began to stutter, forcefully placing the palette and paintbrush down to face Markus only to stop short at his expression.

“Beautiful,” Markus breathed, “Simon you… you captured everything!”

“What?”

“Simon, do you know what dahlias represent?”

Simon frowned, looking down as he activated his database to look up the flower, “Commitment, most typically. Having the ability to work gracefully under pressure especially in challenging situations. Remaining kind even if the entire world is working against you, having the ability to carve your own path against the crowd. But more specifically, a blue dahlia represents big changes and especially fresh starts in life…”

Simon chuckled, the flower practically breathed ‘Markus’ and his entire journey to get to who he is today and his peaceful leadership towards the Deviant Movement.

“Do you know what blue dahlias remind me of Simon?” Markus asked.

Simon laughed, “Of course! It’s-“

“You.”

Simon froze.

“They remind me of _you_ , Simon.” Markus repeated, gently raising a hand and cupping Simon’s cheek, “For always finding the common ground between North and Josh even in the toughest of times. For helping those find a sanctuary amongst Jericho where androids could live even in the shadows as themselves despite only just becoming a Deviant yourself. For remaining so open and welcoming and _kind_ when around you nothing but hate echoed back… for being committed to me despite me leaving you behind…”

Simon breathed shakily, feeling Markus gently wipe a thumb under his eye where tears began to fall, “My Dahlia…” he whispered, “My perfect, selfless Dahlia…”

Chocking on a sob, Simon covered his mouth and rested his head on Markus’ shoulder whilst the other pulled him into a hug. As he rubbed circles on Simon’s back, Markus’ other hand gently stroked through his short blonde hair, gently shushing and murmuring reassurances till he caught his breath again.

“I love you…” Markus breathed, “I love you so much my Dahlia.”

Simon shook, his hands twisting tightly in Markus’ shirt as a breathy laugh of disbelief escaped him. Gently pulling himself away and using the end of his sweaters sleeve to wipe at his eyes, a large trembling smile graced his features, “I love you too.”

“Really?” Markus asked, curling a hand upon Simon’s hip whilst his other brushed his cheek. “More than anything,” Simon replied, his fans overheating by the flustered honesty and sudden revelation between them.

And in that moment, Simon realized, that never before had he seen Markus so openly happy.

A wide, gorgeous smile donned Markus’ lips as tears pricked his beautiful heterochronic eyes, which flickered back and forth across Simon’s face as if attempting to memorize what shade they were (which was absolutely ridiculous with the painting’s detail behind them being obvious evidence).

Simon knew love. Knew its tricks and its deeper meanings and sometimes even consequences. And yet, when he cupped Markus’ face to bring it to his own, Simon finally felt like he was wrong about it all this time until now. And Markus’ lips were so soft, so much more obviously skilled in this form of intimacy compared to his own but that didn’t stop him.

“What’s so funny…?” Simon breathed through his nose, half lidded eyes staring at Markus and the grin that he had felt through their kissing. “You,” Markus responded, pecking Simon’s lips, “this entire situation,” he continued before resuming to softly kiss Simon, hands tracing against his pale open neck. “Finally knowing that I can just do this whenever I want now.”

“Do what-?” Simon squeaked loudly as Markus suddenly plucked him up from the ground with a hearty laugh, Simon’s gangly legs curling around the others back as he was spun in circles with obvious delight.

“I love you!” Markus called out over Simon’s giggles, “I love you,” he repeated as he gently placed Simon onto the wooden table and stared into his eyes, “I love you…” Markus breathed, catching Simon once more into a kiss as he gently pushed him to lie down, crawling on top of him so they couldn’t break apart.

Through seconds, their kiss became more. Hands travelled up and down, trailing under clothing where nails would gently carve against skin sending shivers down their spines. Jawlines were cupped to aid in controlling the kiss only to shift to one’s hair, gently brushing through strands or to take hold of one’s neck. Legs curled and overlaid on another and arms moved to trace waists and arms and-

“Shit!” Simon broke apart from the kiss as the sudden feeling of a cold thick liquid spilling across his stomach. Looking down to examine the pastel pink sweater he wore, Simon cursed again at the sight of orange paint staining the clothing. North was going to kill him for ruining her favourite sweater.

Looking to his left, a tipped orange paint bucket became the culprit and putting two and two together, in his and Markus’ intimacy, he must have accidentally knocked over the bucket with his arm. Speaking of…

Looking back up with an apology already at the tip of his tongue, Simon found himself once again pausing at Markus’ expression just as a hand laid upon his paint-soaked hip. Fighting off a shiver, Simon watched as Markus gently nudged the sweater higher as he swiped the paint delicately across his abdomen, stunned at the others intense but fascinated expression. Raising his own paint coated hand to Markus’ face, Simon wiped a thumb under his blue eye leaving a thin streak of orange as Markus leaned down to kiss him once again.

“Take this off,” Markus murmured between their lips, tugging lightly on the sweater with a grin, “no matter how cute you always look in it…”

Simon blushed shyly, reaching down to the hem of the sweater to begin tugging it over his head, the right sleeve catching against his hand as he stared up in wonder at Markus who had just swiftly removed his own shirt and dropped it to the floor. Eyes tracing against Markus skin, Simon openly admired the athletic synthetic skin and quickly sent a thought of thanks to the creator and the amount of detail they put into such a build.

“You okay down there?” Markus asked gently as he caressed Simon’s cheek who simply hummed in return, “Just admiring the view,” he responded honestly, making the man above him laugh and readjust his stance, knocking over another can of paint in the process.

Now with no fabric to soak up the liquid, Simon openly shuddered as a deep purple shade now decorated his left shoulder. Reaching up, Simon pulled Markus down to him for another kiss, feeling Markus’ hands as they stroked down his arms and in doing so, spreading the paint among his pale skin.

“To think I was just using normal canvas’ when your body makes the most strikingly beautiful masterpiece of them all…” Markus whispered, trailing his fingers up Simon’s waist and oh, where did that shade of green come from?

Simon panted through his flustering, reaching to the side for the palette only to gasp when Markus’ teeth attacked his neck. Holding onto the body above him, Simon tried to imagine the smudged colours of reds, oranges, blues, yellows, whites and so many others now coating the strong back of the man above him.

“Markus-” Simon panted, bright red warnings of his system and fans overheating blaring in his mind as his nails dug into synthetic skin. “You’re stunning,” Markus replied, butterfly kisses tracing up the side of Simon’s neck before retreating back to his lips, “absolutely beautiful.”

Simon choked, his sensors blasting too many codes for him to register as he moaned against Markus’ persistent lips and gasped for air between their onslaught.

And then all too soon, the two began to slow.

Where raving hands once soared across now familiar skin, instead calmly traced the tracks of intertwined paint. Where loud pants and groans once filled the large studio, now soothed to deep breathing and slow sighs. Where agile and swift kisses once pressed against bare necks and swelled against responsive lips, now changed to soft pecks and slow languid interlocks.

“My Dahlia,” Markus hummed, pressing a kiss on Simon’s cheek. “Stop it,” Simon snorted through his bright blush, his thumb tracing the strong jawline of his other.

Markus stared down at him, his hand coming up to hold Simon’s and move it to his lips, pressing a firm kiss upon it before once again peeling back his skin. Smiling softly, Simon almost immediately removed his own to allow them to interface, the swell of devotion, completion, admiration and so much more rushing through Simon’s sensors causing his eyes to swell with unshed tears and clenched them tightly.

“Why do you hide those beautiful eyes from me, Simon?” he heard Markus ask, a hand cupping his cheek which he turned his face in to. “I guess I’m just scared,” Simon frowned, “I wasn’t expecting these feelings to be returned at all, I’m…”

The guilt bit at him. All of them be damned he was just a PL600 model, not even one of the latest editions but a pale unattractive android nowadays known for turning violent and destructive. Passed and tossed and used amongst so many families that to this day he’s still surprised he hasn’t kicked the bucket.

“Would you have told me? In the end, if I hadn’t done so?”

Simon paused, his eyes flickering away, “… I don’t know.”

“Why?”

“Because what you and North had-!”

“Was a spur of the moment!” Markus insisted, now cradling Simon’s face and the two of them sat up, Markus’ thighs straddling Simon’s legs, “What we had was a connection made in vain during the fight for our lives when neither of us had any idea of what we were doing or what we actually wanted. But you Simon…”

The blonde leant forward, his forehead pressed under the others chin as he breathed deeply, feeling the thrum of Markus’ thirium pump.

“Do you really feel all of that? For me?”

He felt Markus chuckle, his fingers cursing through the messy blonde locks before tipping Simon’s chin up gently. Leaning down, Markus pressed a kiss against Simon’s forehead before moving to his lips, sighing in pleasure as the other reciprocated.

“All of that,” Markus gently confirmed, “and so much more, my Dahlia.”

“Now come on,” he then continued, swiftly jolting back to stand upon two legs again and offered a turquoise hand, “let’s get ourselves cleaned up and get to bed, it’s late.”

Simon smiled, stained sweater and tipped cans forgotten as he grasped the outstretched hand and pulled himself to stand in front of his newfound lover, who grinned and quickly kissed on the tip of his nose causing it to wrinkle through his chuckles.

“Beautiful,” Markus said, squeezing Simon’s hand as he led them out the studio door and gently closed it behind them.

**Author's Note:**

> tbh this was totally inspired by that paint scene in the second season of 'Jessica Jones'  
> Also I've never written something so intimate before so slam me if it felt awkward or out of place I need to PRACTICE
> 
> Kudos and Comments are appreciated!  
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
